


A Clever Disguise

by BlessedAreTheFandoms



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Did I just write Garashir into True Lies from the 90s, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Holodecks/Holosuites, Inspired by Fanfiction, Lingerie, M/M, Pole Dancing, Roleplay, Some Plot, Stiletto Heels, Strip Tease, barely edited we die like Jem'Hadar, but really not much, why yes I believe I did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedAreTheFandoms/pseuds/BlessedAreTheFandoms
Summary: After watching the film "True Lies" together, Elim Garak decides to recreate a scene with his roleplay-loving boyfriend Julian Bashir.  It turns out that Julian has some surprises of his own.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 22
Kudos: 49





	A Clever Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> I read the take-charge Garak in Syaunei's [I'm Hookah'd on You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389674?view_full_work=true) and this whole thing said _write me now_. If you haven't seen the absurd wonder of the 1994 Schwarzenegger film "True Lies," I do recommend it because it's hilarious but also the scene where Jaime Lee Curtis dances is *fire.*
> 
> Title from Kenny Wayne Shepherd's [True Lies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JezMZY5R1U0).

The credits rolled explosively after the final banal retort and Elim Garak sighed in relief, his paramour’s head rising and falling with his chest. 

“Did you like it?” asked Julian Bashir, tilting his head up with a delighted grin on his eager face, and Garak wanted very much to say yes simply to keep that grin and the warmth of Julian curled into his side.

“It was…informative,” he said instead. Some lies were too far even for him.

“Oh, Garak, you hated it,” said Julian, his smile falling as he pushed himself up to look at Garak properly. “I know it’s foolish, overblown spy stuff and you find all that annoying, but some parts of it are at least cleverly written for a 20th century film.”

Garak reached out and carded his fingers through Julian’s hair, rumbling contentedly to himself when Julian pushed into the touch. “I do not necessarily find it ‘annoying,’ my dear, merely painfully inaccurate.”

“Not a lot of dangling off helicopters and seducing your own spouse in the spy life?”

“I have not had a spouse to be able to speak to the seduction. But neither have I been a spy, for that matter, though I have spoken with a few and they did not mention helicopters.”

Julian rolled his eyes at the deliberately clumsy distancing from Garak’s former profession and leaned forward, his lips barely touching Garak’s. “Well, if I were your spouse,” he said, his breath ghosting over Garak’s tongue, “I’d be quite happy for you to seduce me like that. I’d even dance for you.”

Any reply to that was lost as Julian closed the distance, claiming Garak’s mouth with his own and shifting to straddle Garak’s lap, and Garak decided a reply was perhaps well worth losing to the feeling of Julian pressed warmly against him.

***

It was while repairing a torn _sari_ for one of the Starfleet officers and carefully aligning the seam of the delicate, vibrant fabric the next day that Garak mulled over Julian’s confession. _If I were your spouse_ … Garak’s hands stilled over the cloth. Surely not. He and Julian had been together for nearly two years and they were often in each other’s company for meals or their weekly movie night (in which Julian insisted on subjecting him to seemingly every human attempt at romanticizing spycraft that had ever been made), but there was no call for any conversation about _marriage_. They were, after all, on a Federation-run Bajoran vessel with a war looming on the horizon and he, Elim Garak, was an exile still quietly wondering if the Order—if _Tain_ —was truly done with him. He could not ask Julian into that life—or into that secret, as there was much the enthusiastic human had realized he did not know about his wily companion.

But the idea of Julian _dancing_ for him, well. A smile curled up Garak’s lips at the thought of that bronzed body undulating as the woman had in the film. Perhaps the spousal status was not quite a requirement…

***

“At 2230 hours exactly, go to holosuite two and announce yourself as Alexander. You will meet a man who is a suspected arms dealer; he is expecting an exotic dancer. Dress sexily. He likes to watch and pays Quark well for it. He will tell you what to do; you must get him to acknowledge that he knows the Bolian trader Hals Krall. If you do not accomplish your mission, many lives will be at stake.”[2]

The data PADD wiped itself clean as Julian finished reading and he grinned. This _had_ to be Garak; it was far too outlandish to be real. And Julian instantly recognized bits of the dialogue from their film night two weeks ago—but role play? He and Garak had done a bit of it before but Garak always felt quite silly. 

It made Julian grin even wider to realize that Garak was setting that aside for _him._ “Whatever did I do to deserve you, my love?” he said softly as he set down the now-blank PADD and checked the time. He strode into the bedroom to change from his uniform, glad he had been given an earlier shift today and was able to—

Standing in front of his open closet, Julian laughed. “You devilish lizard,” he said to his empty quarters, “who did you have to bribe to make sure you could account for the _duty roster_?” Garak probably had read it over Julian’s shoulder, but Julian didn’t remember assigning himself this shift. Someone must have changed it; he’d thought nothing of it at the time, since he often filled in for his nurses when they had something come up.

Julian rifled through his clothing, suddenly very unsure what “sexily” might entail. Garak had seen his whole wardrobe—had made most of it himself, in fact.

Oh. _Oh_ , thought Julian, delighted with himself. No, there were a few pieces Garak had _not_ yet seen; they were too new. Julian had been waiting for the right occasion.

It was here.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, Julian shucked off his work clothing, dashed through a shower and some careful preparation, got dressed, and hurried to Quark’s.

***

Julian was glad of the last-minute decision to cover his outfit with some loose trousers and a jacket, even if it did make him look a little odd as he wound through the lower level of the bar. He keyed himself in as “Alexander” at the holosuite and stepped into the hallway of a hotel with only one door.

Well, at least he wouldn’t get lost.

There was a mirror a few steps before the door and Julian took the opportunity to divest himself of his outer disguise to smooth out his “dancer” costume. He checked his hair one last time to make sure it was staying in place, resituated his heels, and walked on to let himself into the room.

***

Garak sat in the shadows of the overly ornamented hotel room, waiting. He felt incredibly foolish with all this scenery, but he also knew that Julian loved these kinds of games and roles. Garak had almost felt the need to apologize to his former craft in arranging this scene, especially in writing that ridiculous instruction letter, but the more absurd the better for something like this. As the time he’d set for Julian’s arrival neared, however, Garak began to worry. What if Julian didn’t understand the game? For a man as brilliant as the doctor was, he could be startlingly obtuse sometimes. Or what if something had happened in the infirmary and kept him? Or if the shift had been too much and Julian simply wasn’t up to this tonight? Garak didn’t think he could bear having to walk through Quark’s after having been stood up, not in this suit.

He quieted himself, settling in for the wait. It would be fine. All would be fine.

At precisely 2230, the door to the hotel room swung open. “H-hello?” came Julian’s voice, admirably shaky with nerves.

“In here,” came the recorded voice Garak has programmed to the PADD in his hand. There would be none of that accidental need to rewind tonight, but a simple voice modulation was hardly difficult. Thanks to its technology, the statement sounded heavy with the buzzing strains of an Egyptian accent Garak had heard in one of the pieces of music Julian loved. It was strange, to Garak, that so many variations of speech patterns still existed in the heart of the Federation that tried to sell itself as uniform.

Julian came into the decadent bedroom where Garak sat, hidden beneath an arching plant and obscured by the lights of the city outside beneath the night sky, and Garak almost dropped his PADD at the sight. 

Moonlight caught and pooled in the sharp collarbones exposed by the off-shoulder neckline of the outfit Julian had chosen, glinting off the silver choker with a circle in its center resting just above the notch on his sternum. Garak only had a moment to wonder where on Prime he had gotten it before Julian stepped forward and the thought fled. Tall, lanky, often awkward Julian stood in absolute glory in a dress that hugged his shoulders and draped beautifully down his thin chest, accenting the muscle over the lean frame. A band of metal grommets encircled his torso, revealing tantalizing circles of bronze against the silver in a slow unwinding that ended at his hip.

And there a slit began that widened as it went, the long skirt of the dress pulling with even the simplest movements to reveal a bare, clean-shaven leg ending in a black stiletto heel with a blood-red undertone.

Garak wanted to take him then and there.

“My—my name is Alexander,” said Julian. “I’m your dancer tonight. Quark sent me.”

Marshalling his senses, Garak let the voice modulator speak for him again. “You are very pretty. But can you dance?”

Julian threw him a look that spoke so clearly of disbelief at such a question that Garak had to stifle a smile. It was fortunate he was not an arms dealer with vulgar tastes; the insolence in Julian’s eyes would not be as attractive then as it was now.

“Computer, play ‘Alexander set one,” Julian said, and Garak’s eyeridge raised. When had Julian programmed in music?

A thread of a single, high-pitched violin filtered through the room and Julian undulated with it as though its tension were pushing through him. The slit moved across his thigh and the grommets sparkled in the moonlight as another violin joined in with no resolution, the strings merely singing to each other under the exquisite tightness of the bow dragging over them. Julian’s hands trailed over the grommets, his fingers leisurely circling the metal before continuing down and curving over the tops of his thighs to follow the line of where hip met pelvis. The slit widened with the tug of his hands and Garak forced himself not to lean forward when the entire leg was exposed, bent into an entirely new contour by the heels.

Julian lowered his body, letting the fabric of the skirt fall between his legs as he reached out for the column of the four-poster bed Garak had recreated. 

If they were escalating to dancing, Garak wanted to know what else lay in store under this surprise. “Take off your dress,” Garak’s accented voice said.

Julian leaned into the column, dropping himself slightly, rubbing against the notched wood. “Hasty, are we?” he asked. “I bet you live your whole life in the _fast_ lane.” As he said it, Julian tugged on the top of the slit of his dress and Garak realized there was a hidden zipper there. The part of his mind that could still pay attention to such things applauded the dressmaker for such an interesting feature. “But we’re going to take it _slow_ ,” Julian continued, tugging the zipper up one centimeter at a time, writhing with the building strings and Garak could not help the shiver that went through him as the tan skin pooled out from underneath the tight black of the dress.

The dress sloughed off like a shed skin when the zipper finally reached the neckline and Julian stood there in the heels, the choker, and black mesh lingerie with three straps on each side. He turned in a slow rotation, showing himself off as his hips rolled to a rhythm all his own, and Garak saw a satin bow at the top of more mesh and the six straps.

Wherever Julian had gotten the lingerie bottoms, Garak would have to order more. These were not going to last the night in one piece.

The music abruptly shifted to something with a twanging bass and the steady snap of a snare drum as Julian wrapped one leg around the bedpost and _slid_ against it, letting his head drop back to expose the choker to the light. Garak inhaled sharply, pushing against himself to ensure he did not evert. He had never so envied a piece of furniture.

Julian rocked his way back up the post, his lean torso curving snake-like as the cords of his leg muscles tightened in their balance on that single heel point. He unhooked his leg and turned, leaning against the post and plunging down and back up, reaching up over his head to grab the ridges of the wood and stroke his fingers down them. Garak knew all too well how it felt, those deft hands capable of so many degrees of pressure, and he could not stop a slight gasp as he pressed his legs together more tightly.

Stepping away from the post to stand brazen, turning so that Garak could see the faint sheen of sweat beginning to form on that wiry back, Julian dropped his whole torso down, hands running from the tops of his heels up the shaved-smooth legs, hands like a lover’s while Garak watched that little satin bow sitting just at the top of the valley he had walked so many times. The slow slide up his own skin was almost too much, and then Julian turned his head coquettishly over his shoulder and brought one hand up to his own jaw, popping a finger into his mouth and sucking obscenely on it.

“Stop,” Garak’s altered voice said. “Lie down on the bed. Close your eyes.”

Grinning to himself, Julian called for an end to the music and settled himself flat on the bed, his own erection clearly straining against the thin mesh of his one article of clothing.

Taking several deep breaths, Garak got out of the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. He hungered for the long, tan lines of the body trembling slightly in front of him, but that was not the game. “Touch yourself,” he said, and Julian’s eyebrows quirked in surprise. Obediently, Julian ran his fingers toward his straining cock—

“No. Across your chest.”

Julian huffed slightly. “I’d heard you liked to watch, not to dictate.”

Garak thanked the universe that this man was not, in fact, a spy, as he would get himself killed in an instant with that mouth. “I will tell you what I want to watch,” he said.

Julian trailed his long fingers across the sharp edges of his collarbone, running his fingernails against the edge of the metal collar to make it click slightly. Garak shivered and Julian opened his eyes. “Eyes closed,” Garak commanded, and Julian closed them again. “Keep going—above the waist,” Garak said, and Julian pouted.

“Do you _only_ like to watch? I know some get a little more… _tactile_ ; I’ve heard Hals Krall can’t keep his hands to himself, but maybe you’ve heard something different.”

Who on—? _Ohhhh_ , the game. Yes, the game. Garak shook himself as Julian’s fingers circled his own nipples, raised and dark. That was the assignment he’d given Julian, to connect the link. Well. The approach was far too direct, but the fact that Julian was still playing was strangely enticing.

“I’ve never heard of a Hals Krall,” Garak said, congratulating himself on controlling his voice enough not to squeak when Julian’s hands skimmed _just_ above his own hipbones, barely staying within the “above the waist” parameters.

“ _Shame_ ,” Julian said breathily, tilting his head back to expose his throat in the way he knew Garak loved. “I like to be watched, but I also _love_ to be touched; I thought maybe,” he dragged a hand down the long column of his throat, “Krall would have given you some pointers.”

The game had to end or Garak would implode. “Krall can teach me nothing, the fool. He tried to tell me when last we met how to run things and I nearly had him killed for it.”

Julian’s eyes snapped open and he grinned in triumph. “So you _do_ know him.”

“Julian, I know that if you keep asking me about the game I am not going to be able to stop myself from ravishing you for real.”

The grin turned smug and Julian pulled up his legs, the stiletto heels catching against the blanket. “So ravish me,” he said.

Garak was up and out of his clothes in a whirlwind, the voice recorder and the suit forgotten as he dipped in between Julian’s legs, pressing against the smooth chest that radiated such heat as Garak took Julian’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Julian’s legs enclosed Garak, the points of those heels scratching against Garak’s scales as he bit his way down that long neck, tonguing over the raised nipples and smiling at Julian’s moan beneath him. Garak licked a stripe up Julian’s sternum to the collar and, on impulse, stuck his tongue right through the center of the metal ring holding the choker together. Julian bucked at the sensation with a shout of Garak’s name and Garak bit him just beneath his jaw.

“Garak,” Julian panted, “Garak, just fuck me already.”

“After I had to be so patient?” Garak said, dragging the pressure of the ridge on his nose along Julian’s jawline, letting his scales scratch the tender skin. “How unfair. Wherever,” he licked the hollow just beneath Julian’s ear, “did you learn to _dance_ like that?” He let the air of his words blow against the wet patch and Julian shuddered.

“Explanations later, sex now,” he said, squirming to get Garak closer. “Ah, damn,” he said, looking down and hooking his fingers into the lingerie.

“No, you must allow me,” said Garak, stilling Julian’s hands. He pulled Julian’s wrists up over the human’s head and trapped them there, stealing another deep kiss. “We shall also talk about where _these_ came from.” He grabbed the three straps on one side and yanked, breaking them easily and pulling the fabric away. Julian’s cock sprang free, barely rubbing against Garak’s _chUva_ and Garak everted at the touch. He ground down against Julian, trapping their erections between them in the pressure of his own weight.

“ _Elim_ ,” Julian gasped, “Elim, _fuck me_.”

“Gladly,” Garak obliged, reaching down between them as Julian drew his legs up, and the realization that Julian was in nothing but heels and a collar made something flare in Garak. His fingers slid between Julian’s flesh and he found the opening already slick and stretched.

“I’m ready, Elim, I’m so far beyond ready,” chanted Julian, biting at Garak’s jawridge, “I want you inside me, _fuck_ , _impale_ me.” He bent his head and closed his teeth around Garak’s neckridge, licking between the pressure of his jaw.

Garak lined up and pushed into Julian in one steady thrust, bottoming out inside his lover with a tremble of awareness at the pressure and heat surrounding his _prUt_. Julian’s legs locked tighter, pulling him in and holding him like a vise. Garak rolled, his _irllun_ rubbing against the flesh stretched in lewd beauty around him, and Julian’s fingernails bit into the scales on his back. He pulled out and slammed back in, angling at the spot he had memorized, alternating his thrusts with the rolls that sent phaser bolts down his legs and up his spine and Julian’s vocalizations devolved from words to sounds intermittently punctuated by Garak’s own name. Garak inhaled Julian’s breaths as they kissed open-mouthed and slack, the force of them pushing them both forward, Julian’s hands squeezing and tearing at Garak’s ridges, Garak nosing his way across Julian’s face to nip at his ear, Julian clamping down on each thrust to create the incredible pressure of their joining, Julian’s cock sliding across Garak’s _chUva_ with each thrust and roll and the pair of them felt the fizzing wire of release building in them until Julian came with a shout and Garak followed a few rolls after.

Julian’s legs fell apart and Garak pulled out gently, letting himself fall beside the human and catch his breath.

“Medical school,” said Julian after a few moments of pant-punctuated quiet. 

“What?”

“I learned to pole dance in medical school.”

Garak raised himself on one elbow. “What do they _teach_ in Starfleet?” he asked in shock.

Julian laughed and curled into him, trailing gentle fingers around Garak’s _chUla_. “It wasn’t exactly a Starfleet class,” he said. “But then I had to do _something_ for stress relief.”

Garak fell back, pulling Julian over him and idly tracing circles over the bony ridges of Julian’s spine. “Clearly,” he said.

“Garak?” said Julian, resting his chin on Garak’s chest.

“Mmm?”

“Thank you. This was fun, and I liked that you incorporated the film.”

“As I said, it had a few merits.”

“You are free to use those merits on me at any time,” Julian laughed, kissing the center of the _chUla_.

Garak stiffened at the caress, overstimulated. “I will keep that in mind,” he said.

Julian lay his head back down, his fingers running over the ridges of the shape just beneath his jaw. “And I have the _best_ idea for what we’re watching on our next movie night,” he said.

Garak merely huffed in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, this is my 20th work on AO3! It is somehow fitting that such an honor goes to something as fluffy and absurd and porntastic as this. *sigh* I'd apologize, but I know what I'm doing.
> 
> Also, if any of you want to write the adventures of Young!Julian learning pole dancing while at school, I am 100% in support of you.


End file.
